


Cough Up My Heart

by orphan_account



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Hanahaki Disease, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mentions of Taylor Swift, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Soulmates, To Be Edited, Unrequited Love, sonia kaspbrak is a crapsack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25600039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The minute Richie sees the words creep up his arm, he knows he's screwed.The second he first touches Eddie's hand, he knows he's screwed.The moment that he knows he loves Eddie, he knows he's completely and utterly screwed.Because there is no way in hell that Eddie loves him back.I update when I can :)
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 39
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Library meetings always end up going wrong anyway.

“You know, Bill told me this new guy is pretty great.” Beverly nudged at Richie. “And he usually never says that about his roommates.”

Richie glared. “Remind me again, but wasn’t _I_ one of his roommates?”

“Yep,” said Beverly, putting emphasize on the _p_.

Richie groaned in exasperation and put his head in the crook of his elbow. 

He was on the wrong side of the bed this morning, as Stan liked to tell him. He woke up to a blaring alarm that he discovered had been going off for about 15 minutes, which caused him to frantically snatch his phone off the nightstand, which sent his mug of water that Stanley had stationed the previous night onto the ground. He had stepped in the wet puddle and yelled at the cold. He had arrived at the library to study with Beverly, who wasn’t mad at him for being an hour late, but rather excited to give him the details about her soulmate - Bill’s - new roommate. 

So far, he had gathered that the new roommate had transferred from a university in the west and moved because he was not fond of the humidity rates there. Richie had snorted when she explained it to him. He didn’t think he could get along with anyone that wasn’t fond of humidity. Humidity rocked.

Beverly and Bill had found each other about a year ago, when they accidentally dumped coffee on each other right before their shared exam. It was exactly like a fairy tale or a cheesy rom com, how they met. Their soulmate tattoos had flared up as soon as their fingers touched and afterward Beverly had told him it hurt like hell. Richie found it lucky that they fell in love with each other so quickly. He probably wouldn’t have the same fate.

His thoughts broke when he heard Bill’s stuttering yet loud voice boom throughout the quiet library, along with a quick, snappy one. He saw heads glance up at the sudden commotion, college kids who were napping on the desks and librarians who glared as Bill didn’t get the message to quiet down. The chatter grew closer and he felt Beverly get up from her chair to greet them before nudging Richie to get up and do it as well. Richie, despite his hip still hurting him from the morning’s scuttle, did what Bev signalled him to do. He waved at Bill, who was hugging Beverly, and then his eyes travelled curiously to the newcomer. 

His first thought as he met the boy’s eyes were _cute, cute, cute_. His thin eyebrows were scrunched up so there was a crease in the middle, and it looked like he was the type of person to have that permanent expression on his face, and he had an urge to make a nervous joke about it. He was wearing what looked like a thread bare hoodie and basketball shorts, but he didn’t strike Richie as a basketball type of dude. But then again, he wore _Thrasher_ and he had never stepped on a skateboard before. But the guy looked athletic. Maybe he ran track. It would explain why he could match Bill’s impressive stride.

“Hi,” The new guy said, kindly but at the same time, warily. “I think Bill already told you my name, but if he didn’t, it’s Eddie.” A wave of emotions surrounded Richie as he took in the name, emotions he couldn’t place. He’d met Eddies before. Corcoran, Dean. So why did he feel different with this one?

“Well, good fellow, my name is Richie Tozier, pleased to meet you,” Richie greeted in one of his many, if not terrible, Voices. Nowadays few people got to hear them, but he still made an effort to introduce himself with one. Eddie’s face scrunched up even more.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,” Beverly told Eddie. She hugged him and it seemed like he didn’t mind.

She pulled away, a warm motherly smile gracing her lips. A question of _how are you?_ Was asked in her eyes. Eddie looked shaken up by the warmth and nodded weakly in her direction before focusing more on the unfamiliar surroundings of the room. They all settled down at one of the various tables placed in the tranquil section of the library. Richie found himself sitting directly across from Eddie in one of the bean bags, hoping the softness would ease his hip pain, while Bev and Bill sat beside them respectively. A silence followed as they all got settled, and to ease the tension Bev brought out candies from her backpack.

The bright ornaments caught Richie’s attention. “Please tell me they’re LifeSavers.”

Bill peeked over at the pile of candy crinkling in her hand and shook his head. “They’re Jolly Ranchers.”

Richie wailed as quietly as he could. Ever the dramatic one. “Bevvie, how you wound me.”

She scoffed and threw them all on the table laid out at the center of where they were sitting. “Who said they were for you?”

Eddie had observed this all with quiet eyes, Richie noticed. He had a very dull look on his face, as if he were a robot and was rebooting at the moment. Like a software update.

Richie waved a hand across his face and the expression wiped completely. “What?”

“You blanked out, senor. Coin for your thoughts?”

“Uh, no thank you,” said Eddie meekly. It was kind of cute how polite he made it sound. “I guess I’m still jetlagged.”

“So, Eddie,” Bill said eagerly, cutting off their mini conversation. “Will you tell them what brought you from Houston to NYC?”

“Oh!” Eddie exclaimed, looking a little pale, which no one seemed to notice except for Richie. “Well I think I mentioned the mold growing everywhere in the dorms and believe me there was a lot of it. I think it was maybe the 20thof…”

Richie blanked out, sort of. It wasn’t that Eddie was boring, believe him, it wasn’t that. More like the morning just drained every funny bone in Richie’s body. He lazily took a Jolly Rancher and glared at it in disgust before tossing it back onto the desk. Beverly and Bill weren’t bothered but apparently someone else was.

Eddie looked up at him, stopping his detailed description of the dorms. He was frowning a bit. Eddie was the type of dude that didn’t show his emotions to the public. Maybe not at all, even. “You can put the candy down gently, you know?” He snapped, but he didn’t sound mad, more resigned. He suddenly remembered that Eddie, being new, was not used to his antics.

“Shit, sorry. I do that all the time. It’s kind of hard remembering what you need to do when there’s someone new in the group.” Richie explained, taking back some of the candy. Eddie’s face remained impassive, but Richie thought he saw his eyes brighten.

“Yeah, the new one in the group,” Eddie agreed, “Hey, if you’re not eating it, I’m taking it.” 

“Sure.”

Making sure that he wasn’t tossing the candy to Eddie, he stood up and handed it to him. Their fingers grazed, and instantaneously, he felt a burning sensation in the inner part of his arm, just below his elbow. 

He looked up sharply and saw that Eddie had a look of pain on his face, eyes at his arm. 

Beverly and Bill got up, worried, asking them if they were okay. Richie quickly rolled up his sleeve, his eyes targeting where the pain lurched from. His soulmate tattoo. Eddie’s eyes bulged when he rolled up his own sleeve.

The tattoo Richie had, which he had registered as a hoodie string when he first saw it on his 18th birthday, had turned bright red. He could see it slowly fade away. Eddie, on the other end, had a tattoo of an arcade token. It was fading as well. Where his old tattoo was before was a new tattoo that was slowly inking itself into his skin. 

Richie stared at the new tattoo before he gasped at what it said. He scrambled to show the others.

Beverly motioned Eddie to show his arm to everyone. Eddie looked shaken up at what he had seen on Richie’s arm and then blanched when he saw his own. 

Everyone stared in amazement and horror at the new tattoo settling into both of their arms. 

_Soulmates._

______________________________

Richie knew he was in deep shit as soon as Eddie unrolled his sleeve as fast as he could. 

“Um, I-I have to go,” Eddie stammered as soon as he saw the tattoos on both of their arms. 

Richie watched quietly as he hurried past him toward the exit. His arm was numb. Screw that, everything in him was numb. Beverly turned to him, looking at him sympathetically. 

“He just needs some time,” She soothed, “He came here to feel relaxed, and right now, he isn’t very relaxed about this.”

Richie nodded. 

“M-m-maybe we s-should get him?” Bill suggested. Beverly shook her head.

Richie, who still stood motionless, finally cleared his throat.

“Uh, I think I should leave, too,” He said. A whole plethora of weirdness had fallen on his shoulders. Eddie needed time; he could get that. Richie needed it too. 

He hurried out of the library but checked left and right to make sure Eddie wasn’t still there. He couldn’t deal with any awkward conversation right now. He practically sprinted to his flat that he shared with Stan. The distance and speed he was going would’ve made his old track coach in high school proud. 

When he finally made it, climbed up three flights of stairs and was short of breath, slamming the front door. Stanley looked up in alarm. 

“Richie?” asked Stan, setting down the knife lathered in peanut butter. Stan was making a peanut butter sandwich. Stanley had recently discovered the wonders of JIF and peanut butter and taken a liking to it. By taken a liking, Richie meant Stanley Uris was obsessed with peanut butter.

Richie gave him and his half-made sandwich no regards and slammed his room door shut. He could hear Stan murmuring about drugs and drinking, but he heard nothing else.

His breath came out in harsh, whispering noises and he forced himself to _breathe_. 

Eddie whatever-his-last-name-was was his soulmate. And if somehow, they fell in love with each other, as Bev and Bill did, they would spend the rest of their lives together, in love and happy. He couldn’t even fathom himself in a relationship yet.

Richie Tozier couldn’t sleep that night. 

===

The next day, Stan had barged into his room, demanding the details that had made Richie so mopey and disgruntled the night before. Richie spilled, and Stan listened. Stanley was a relatively good roommate, and was one of Richie’s best friends, having known him since he was ten. Stanley’s dry humor had contrasted with Richie’s inappropriate jokes well, and their personalities fit. 

Richie finished his story, and Stan sat beside him, thinking for a second. 

“You think he bolted like that because he wasn’t attracted to guys?” Stan asked. 

“I think he was attracted to guys, Stan,” Richie said, “He just had this vibe.”

Stan raised his eyebrows. “Gay vibes?” 

Richie shoved him off the bed.

Stan shrugged, grinning dryly. “Ah yes, he omitted gay vibes, like pheromones.”

“I don’t think he bolted like that because he wasn’t attracted to guys. I mean, if he hadn’t bolted first, I would’ve.”

Stan cackled at that. Richie gave him the finger. 

Stan snorted again. “Well, that’s amusing. Let me know what happens next, Rich,” He glanced at his watch and seemed to remember something. “I need to go meet up with Patty.”

Stan left before Richie could think of a remark about that. 

Throughout the day, he spent time watching TV blindly, switching through channels before they could appear on the screen. He repeated this for almost two hours before the telephone in the kitchen rang. He didn’t even know anyone who used the telephone except Stanley. He groaned at the noise before hoisting himself up to stop the terrible noise. 

“Hello?”

“Richie?” A familiar, but not familiar. voice echoed through the phone that Richie almost dropped upon hearing it. Richie stared at the phone for a bit before the voice repeated his name. 

“H-hey,” Richie croaks out. “How the fuck did you get this number?”

“Oh,” Eddie sounded embarrassed. “I asked Bill.”

Of course, he did. He had forgotten Bill was another person who used the telephone. Oldies.

“Listen, I’m sorry for the way I reacted yesterday,” Eddie explained, “I just wasn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary.”

“Yeah.”

“I think we should talk in person,” Eddie continued smoothly, clearly not fazed. “Maybe it would be better.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said into the phone. After Richie tells him where to meet, they hang up the phone.

That was awkward. 

______________________________

The knock at the door made Richie jump, even though he knew full well he was expecting company.

Eddie stared silently before walking in with purpose in every stride. He was wearing a t-shirt that displayed the new mark on his arm, as if there was nothing to hide. It seemed like a peace offering, which Richie gladly accepted. Richie smiled weakly at Eddie before letting him in. 

“Sorry I didn’t clean anything up,” He gestured at the pile of junk on the coffee table that Stan had left behind, because physics makes a mess out of every man. Eddie nodded.

“I mean, it’s cleaner than my dorm,” Eddie said, making Richie snorts.

“No shit, you just moved in,” said Richie, “In two weeks your room will look like something out of a housing advertisement. You seem like a conventionally neat dude.”

Eddie laughed, an airy sound. The laugh makes Richie feel warm inside, even if it’s just nerves. 

They settled on the couch, talked about nonsense for about an hour. Richie hadn’t done any of this before, so he decided to just wing it. 

“Wait, so all you did during your childhood was stay inside?”

Eddie giggles. “Well, I lived in a pretty weird town.”

“Where?”

“Derry. You probably won’t recognize it because it’s a ghost town now. There’s no one living there except for seniors and fuck-ups.” Eddie said, amused. Even though there was humor in his tone there was something else there as well.

“It makes sense though.”

“Excuse me? Are you saying that I’m a senior or are you saying I’m a fuck-up?”

Richie pretended to think for a bit before saying he was both, earning a punch in the arm from the shorter man. 

“Fuck you, Tozier.”

“Can’t do that if I’ve already fucked your mom,” Richie said, smirking. Eddie punched him again. 

“If you say another _word_ regarding my mom, I will kick you out,” Eddie said, fake anger rolling off his tongue. Richie laughed at that.

Eddie asked him where he grew up.

“I grew up with Beverly and Stan in Jersey, but we wanted to experience the wilderness in nature, so we rolled on out to New York City to express our love for subways. A pretty enjoyable experience.”

“My roommate that you did not have the pleasure of seeing today, because I lent him the all-access tour of a strip club down the street.” He could see Eddie try to stop the smile growing on his face. 

“Sure. And do you own that said strip club?”

“Yeah, it’s right next to the place that I use to meet up with your wonderful mother.”

“Ha-ha, very funny, guess where I meet up with your mom?”

“Can’t do that.” Richie murmured. Eddie looked up, confused and alarmed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know-”

He felt a grin forming on his face, and Eddie must have caught on because his pitying expression turned into a dangerous glare.

“Fuck you, dude! You can’t joke about your own mother’s death and shit!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, me Madre is used to it at this point,” said Richie as Eddie scowled.

An awkward silence grows. Richie opts to throw himself out of the window, but that won’t do him much good. Eddie looks at everything except Richie’s face. 

“I guess we should discuss this whole soulmate thing.” Richie blurted out. Eddie’s eyes widen and finally look into Richie’s. 

Eddie looked scared. Richie wished he never brought it up. They were having a normal conversation, and Richie, of course, had fucked it up. 

“Um,” Eddie said, “I guess we should?” Richie nodded. 

“I guess we should decide whether or not we-”

“I never wanted a soulmate.”

Richie froze. He never wanted a soulmate. Is that why he bolted like that? 

“Oh.” Richie finally said. He nodded.

Richie always wanted a soulmate. He wanted someone who understood him, who got his jokes, and who could handle his heat. For a while, he had thought that his soulmate would be Stan, but the only emotions he felt for the guy were purely platonic (even if Stanley was an absolute sweetheart). He ached for a soulmate, for the love that he watched everyone around him have. He just didn’t expect his soulmate to be someone like Eddie. 

“What?” 

Richie freezes again. Oh shit. He said that aloud. 

“What did I say?” He weakly asked. Eddie repeated what he heard, a tight anger written all over his face. 

“You said that you didn’t expect someone like _me_ to be your soulmate.” Eddie, despite his best efforts to remain placid, looked beyond hurt. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I-I,” Richie couldn’t get the words out. “It’s just that I can tell our personalities are different.”

“Opposites attract?” Eddie smirked coldly, like he was reliving a cruel memory.

“I don’t know,” Richie said. He suddenly felt a bit annoyed at Eddie’s reaction. “Why would it affect you? I thought you never wanted a soulmate.”

Taken back, Eddie retorted. “Just because I didn’t want you as a soulmate, doesn’t mean I don’t want you as a _friend_. But I guess, since our ‘personalities are so different’, we _can’t_ be, right?”

Richie’s surprised at the change of events. Just two minutes before, they had been amicable, now they were two words away from never speaking again. 

Eddie stood up, wiping invisible dust from his jeans that look like they haven’t seen the light of day. The t-shirt he was wearing felt like a burden rather than an olive branch now.

“You know what? I can’t handle this. I came because I wanted to apologize, but right now, I’m not even sure why I wanted to apologize to _you_.”

“Eddie, wait, I didn’t mean it that way,” Richie hurried follow him. For a short guy, he walked very fast. “Can we just talk about this?” 

Eddie steadily ignored the pleads of the man behind him, and left, leaving Richie to an open apartment door. 

After closing said door, Richie slumped back into the couch and groaned.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eddie moves in with Richie, and Stan moves out.

It had been almost two months since Richie had last spoken to Eddie. Sometimes, because they had mutual friends, they were required to be in the same room, but they never spoke to each other outright. Richie sometimes caught Eddie glaring at him across the room, and Richie sometimes flipped him off. Beverly had tried to make them talk to each other, but they steadfastly avoided each other. 

“Why don’t you apologize?” Beverly had asked Richie. She must have felt Richie shrug through her phone because she made an exasperated sound. “You two are soulmates. Figure it out.”

Richie harrumphed as Beverly continued her rant.

“I talked to Eddie, too. He is a nice guy, Richie. I’m kind of tired of you two’s stubbornness and bullshit.” She paused. “That sounds grammatically wrong.” After that, she hung up. 

A month after the fiasco a surprise came knocking at the door while Richie was brushing his teeth. His dad had drilled into him when he was seven that teeth were important, and it now became the only part of his personal hygiene he took seriously.

The knocking occurred just as he past the one-minute mark of brushing time. Since he was still brushing intensely and Stanley was closer to the door than he was, he yelled an “I’ll get it!”

Stan, who was usually very respectful towards everyone, said words to the stranger at the door Richie thought he would never hear come out of Stan’s mouth while greeting a stranger. 

“Why the fuck are you here?”

At this point, Richie already knew who it was.

After Eddie left and Stanley had come back to a very blank looking Richie, he told him what had happened. Together, they stalked Eddie’s socials (which didn't really work out because the dude was like a _ghost)_ , but Bill provided Richie with a picture, so Stan must’ve recognized Eddie’s face when he saw who was at the door. Stanley, although he knew Richie had severely fucked up, also knew that Eddie should not have acted that way, thereby renouncing Eddie as a world-class jerk. 

Richie spits out all the leftover, as he liked to call it, “flavored mouth juice” into the sink. He hurried to the front door where Stan was standing, wooden spoon in hand. The scene in front of him was almost comical, with Stan waving his wooden spoon at a timid looking Eddie Kaspbrak. Stan looked angry, but also confused. ‘Why was the guy that made my roommate sad at the door?’ was on his face.

“Hi,” Eddie said, shyly. Stan glared at him through the corner of his eye before he marches back towards the kitchen, leaving Eddie to Richie. Richie could hear Stan murmuring about something but couldn’t make out what he was saying. It was happening more and more often, or maybe it was because Richie’s hearing had gotten better since last year.

“Eddie,” Richie breathed out. He was standing at the door with a huge duffel bag. Richie had a staggering thought that he was getting robbed. Robbed by his soulmate. A voice in his head said _shouldn’t you glare at him or something?_ Maybe with him in such close proximity it would be kind of hard to do such thing.

“Can I come in?”

“Uh,” Richie’s brain shortcutted. He felt as though he’d been standing there for an eternity. 

Stan’s voice dragged him back to the present. “Richie, let him in.”

Richie let Eddie in. 

Awkwardness settled between the two while Stan hummed a tune from the radio while he made his spaghetti. He had taken a recent liking to Ed Sheeran, most likely because it was Patricia’s favourite artist.

“So,” Richie started, “What brings you to my humble abode?”

Eddie looked sheepish. Richie looked at him. Stan kept humming. 

“I was hoping I could move in with you guys.”

Back in the kitchen, Stan stopped humming. They heard him bang pots around before stomping over to the table, all of them huddled around the tiny couch. 

“You’re going to _what_?” Again, with the wooden spoon, Richie thought. 

Eddie’s neck was turning red in embarrassment. 

Richie was almost certain this was a dream, only it couldn’t, because Stanley was waving the spoon at an alarming rate and his pinches weren’t waking him up. 

“Why are you moving in with us?”

Eddie, although slightly redder, looked calmer. “Our building kind of, well, flooded.”

Stan momentarily stopped his waving. 

“So, you need to move in with us? We only have two rooms; you can’t move in with us unless you want to sleep on this crappy couch for three months.” Stan was now walking around, 

It was true. Most of the time, when dorms flooded, it took over two months for the repairs to be fully done, and no one knew why. The residents would have to move out for the time being. 

Stan kept talking. “And if you stay here, it’s going to be fucking awkward.” Glancing at Richie. He paused. “Wait. Where’s Bill staying if you’re staying here?”

Richie knew it was Beverly’s before Eddie answered. 

He lamented. “I guess you could stay.”

Eddie looked relieved, to say the least. His reaction was short-lived when Stan suddenly yelled. 

“Oh _hell_ no.” 

Richie, confused, turned toward Stan. He was shaking his spoon angrily in Eddie’s direction. If he keeps this up, Richie thought, he could be a professional spoon waver. Never mind that master’s degree. 

“If you stay here, you are going to mess up the entire system,” Stan fretted. “We’ll have to organize things.”

“Don’t you already do that every day?” Richie asked. Stan glared. 

“Do you want the guy to stay here? We’re three dudes, this place will be messed up in about three hours.”

An idea had been building up in Richie’s mind. “Not necessarily.”

He continued. “Stan, you have a girlfriend, right?”

“What’s she got to do with this? You want Patty to live here too?” 

“Fuck no, I am not going to listen to you two do the nasty every night,” Richie said. He could see Eddie smile a bit, and even though he didn’t want it to, his heart skipped a beat. 

“Hell, at least I _can_ do the nasty every night.” Richie was tempted to get up from his spot on the sofa to punch him. He opted not to. 

Eddie meekly asked, “What about Patty, Richie?”

“If Stan is so interested in the organization and not interested in us three being the golden trio, I think Stan could move in with Patty.”

Stan and Eddie stared at him in silence. He shrugged. 

“What? It’s a good plan.”

Stan crossed his arms around his chest. He narrowed his eyes, turning his head towards Eddie and then back to Richie. He looked deep in thought for what seemed like a couple of hours before it seemed he had made his decision.

“Okay, okay, but if I come back to you two wreaking havoc, I’m staying at Patty's place forever,” Stan said simply, returning to the kitchen. 

Richie and Eddie looked at each other. 

“Wait so, you’re not arguing with this plan?”

“I’m feeling empathetic and I want to share the love,” Stan said. 

“Yeah right, you just want to _do the nasty._ ”

“For the love of God, stop saying _do the nasty.”_

“Not a chance, Stan the Man.” 

Stan huffed and continued his gourmet college meal.

Eddie had sat through those three minutes and looked like he experienced a whirlpool ride at a local waterpark. 

“Is this how you two usually talk?”

“Yep. Better get used to it if you’re going to live with me, my good fellow.” He said in what he knew was a terrible accent, but he _thought_ it was a great one. 

Richie knew they were both avoiding what had happened months before. He could feel the tension tinging the atmosphere. Every time their eyes met, they grated against each other, urging the other to be the first to apologize. Every time their eyes met; Richie forced him to leave. If he kept staring into those dark brown orbs of oblivion, he might faint. 

Richie didn’t know how he felt about Eddie. They were soulmates, sure. But they were soulmates that had just met, what, three months ago? Richie wasn’t going to deny how hot Eddie was, but the hotness didn’t matter if he didn’t _know_ him. Richie’s first impression of him had been a short, angry dude. He was also pretty sure Eddie hated him. But weren’t soulmates supposed to be, well not fighting?

“I am sorry for this whole moving in thing, it’s just Bill’s staying at Beverly’s and I just thought it would logically make sense if I stayed with you.”

“Huh?”

Richie had been so pulled into his thoughts that he hadn’t realized Eddie finished the entirety of a speech he had planned for Richie. Eddie was looking at him questionably. 

“What did you say?”

Eddie looked annoyed. “I just explained why I chose to stay here and not someplace else. What were you doing for five minutes?”

“Do you want the full list or the summarized version? I could provide both and a glossary.” 

Eddie punched his arm. At least they were both comfortable enough for that to happen. 

“Motherfu-” They heard from the kitchen, with another string of curse words. With just one look at each other, they bounded off to see what Stan was up to. 

They were greeted by the sight of Stan, drenched in what seemed like dishwater. He was still holding the spoon like it was his baby, and the spoon was safely stowed in his inner arm. 

Stan looked like the world’s most pissed off college student ever. Which Richie made sure to tell him.

“Thanks, a lot, asshole,” Stan grumpily wiped some of the water off his sleeve, which was not doing anything, “Now I have to go shower.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Eddie said meekly, looking at Stan’s situation. “When am I able to move in?”

Stan, bless his soul, looked like he had forgiven Eddie after all. “I guess after I shower, I’ll pack some things and you can stay in my room.” He grinned. “Or you can sleep in Richie’s.”

Eddie’s mouth hung open. “I-I think I’ll stay in your room, Stan.” 

Stan cackled, leaving the room. Recently there seemed to be an uproar of Stan’s cackling. 

They heard the water rumble and soon heard Stan’s surprisingly on-tune singing. 

“Stanley doesn’t strike me as a guy who sings that much.” 

Richie snorted.

“You’d be surprised. Ed Sheeran is always on his mind.”

Stan finished his mini-concert and exited the bathroom, hot steam curling out. He proceeded to go to his room and mix through his clothes, estimating how much he would need for three or four months. The sheer amount of clothes in the duffel bag Stan was carrying looked like it could be enough for three people. 

He looked around the dorm one last time, probably to see it in its neatness before it was torn away from him. He nodded to Eddie and glared at Richie.

“If you scoundrels mess up this place, I _will_ leave. Forever.” Stan declared. 

Richie smiled cheekily. “No, you won’t Staniel, you’ll come back with this place nice and shiny.”

Stan scoffed and told Eddie to keep an eye on Richie. 

“Why am I the one who needs keeping an eye on? He just got here.”

“I guess I have a better adulting function than you, Richie.”

“Yeah right, when am I ever _not_ an adult?”

At this point, Stan had had enough. He bided his farewells and slammed the front door. A muting silence followed. Richie couldn’t do silence. 

He looked over at Eddie, who looked like he was in deep thought, staring off into space. Richie was pretty sure he would stand like that until he snapped his fingers in his face.

“Well, Eds, time to mess this entire place up!”

Eddie scowled. “Don’t call me Eds.”

“Okay then, Eds Spagheds.”

“Even worse.”

Richie grinned. “Then I’m coining it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This chapter is based on the most common trope I could think of. It's kind of a short chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eddie forces Richie to go to an art museum and Richie learns more than he thought he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Folklore is one of the best albums ever created. No argument.

As Stanley Uris had previously promised, he was going to visit them every week to check on the condition of the dorm. Every Sunday, to be precise. 

Although Richie soon discovered that Eddie was a perpetually neat person, Richie was not, which was why the place was never completely clean. When Sunday arrived, Richie woke up to Eddie frantically yelling at him.

“What the fuck dude, it’s Sunday,” Richie said before rubbing his eyes, looking at Eddie’s blurry figure at the doorway. 

Richie realized. “Oh. It's Sunday.” 

He spent the next half hour sorting through the magazines and other shit on the table, putting them in a neat pile in the corner. Eddie helped him dust the furniture crowding the cramped room.

Wailing around the room, Richie cried, “I need coffee. Eds, please say you can spare some coffee for my poor soul.”

“I am not making coffee for your lazy ass, so shut up and clean the damn place.”

“But, my dear Eds, if I am without my caffeine, I won’t _survive._ ”

Eddie snorted, “Sure you will, Richie,” before hitting him with a pillow.

Richie hmphed and muttered about coffee. All he could think about at the moment was caffeine and otherworldly goods. They got the enclosed space as clean as they could, and just in time.

The sharp knock of the door woke Richie right up, and Eddie got the door.

“Hi Stan,” Eddie greeted. Stan smiled dryly. 

“You guys smashed yet?” 

Eddie looked almost disgusted, and Richie felt a pang in his stomach. Was he that repulsed by the notion? Or was he disgusted by Richie himself?

Stan looked around, narrowing his eyes. 

“It’s this clean?” Arching a brow. “All the time?”

Richie nodded, trying his best to look as convincing as possible. Stan scrunched his nose, shaking his head.

“Beats me.”

Richie mentally exhaled. Stan started again.

“It’s never this clean. What wonders have you been doing to Rich?”

Eddie shrugged. “My amazing personality, I guess.”

Stan cracked a smile. Richie did not.

The tension in the room was at extreme levels, and Richie wanted to get the hell out. The expression on Eddie’s face was haunting Richie’s mind at the moment. Now that he thought of it, the expression wasn’t just disgust, but it looked like fear as well. It made Richie feel nauseatic. 

Sudden movements in Richie’s peripheral vision made him look up to see Eddie moving towards the door. He turned to face them.

“I uh,” He motioned with his hands to the door. “I have to go somewhere.”

Stan waved as he left. Then he turned towards Richie.

“Having fun with Eddie, aren’t you?”

Richie whipped around. 

“Stan,” He fretted. “I think Eddie hates me.”

“Sure, Richie.”

With that, he told him all about Eddie. 

“It’s just, he’s so confusing. Sure, he’ll join in on my wonderful escapades on Friday nights and we’ll play in the arcade for _hours_ on end and he’ll bicker with me about nonsense that even _I_ don’t know shit about, but the second I feel a bit of a romantic spark between us, it’s like he’s pushing away. Did you see the way he backed up when you mentioned us...?”

Stan nodded with his head, but Richie could tell he wasn’t with his eyes. 

“Maybe he’s just not used to you yet.”

Richie glared. “It’s been two weeks. I think that’s plenty of time for someone to get used to me. Also, he is used to me. It’s just he’s used to me as _friends._ ”

Stan thought of it. “It didn’t take that long for me and Patty to tell each other,” He said.

“Yeah, because she’s exactly your type, Stan. A guy like Eddie isn’t my type.”

“What _is_ your type, anyway?” Stan mused.

He shrugged. “Frat boys.”

Stan rolled his eyes and got up from the couch.

“Well, I guess my work here is done.”

Richie grinned. “Aw not yet, big fella, you’ve still got something for me, don’t ya?” in a Cockney accent. Stan sighed.

“I’m not lending you any more money, and you’re taller than me.”

“And _bigger_.”

______________________________

Sundays soon became a routine; get up before eight a.m., listen to Eddie rant about the weather and offer some of his own opinions, which would earn a hard smack from Eddie, and Stanley would come around to check on the dorm. Richie would then spill the details about the week to him.

This was convenient because for some reason, Eddie was always out on Sundays. 

“Where do you always go off to anyway?” Richie would say.

“Off to bang your mom,” Eddie would flip back, but Richie didn’t push for an honest answer. He knew from his own experiences with other people that he would eventually tell Richie anyways. 

His ambivalence towards Eddie had faded, however. Their dynamic was still full of bickering and yelling and poking fun, but he guessed they were way more comfortable than they had been on that first meeting in the flat. He felt like he’d known Eddie all his life. But that _damn_ tattoo was not helping him.

They never brought up their soulmate situation. Ever. And once or twice, when Richie had mentioned it when they had Bill and Bev over, Eddie left the room as fast as that. 

All Richie knew was that Eddie preferred them as just friends. And Richie was fine with that. Sort of. 

Until one Friday morning, when they traded coffee between each other, hungover from the previous night.

“God, what the fuck was in those drinks?” Eddie complained. His hands were on his forehead and he was hunched over, elbows on the table. Richie grinned.

“Pure fuel.”

“Why do I know that from somewhere,” Eddie grumbled. 

He shrugged. “Maybe it’s because that’s how your mother usually describes our one-on-one time,” Which earned a “Fuck you” from the guy across from him. 

Richie wasn’t as hungover as Eddie from last night. Because of this, he made every attempt to be as loud as possible, because he was a good roommate. He rambled on and on an entire morning while Eddie rumbled around with coffee in hand. 

“I’m going to get you back for getting me drunk last night,” Eddie remarked. Suddenly, it looked like he had a revelation. “What the _hell_ did I do last night?”

Richie laughed as Eddie’s face turned red.

“You _better_ tell me, Trash-mouth.”

“No.”

“Come on, you tell me about everything. Why can’t you tell me about yesterday?” He whined. 

“I don’t want to,” Richie said as he turned to the sink to wash his now empty cup, another habit that had been forced upon him since Eddie had arrived. “You’ll get so many germs,” He had chastised. 

Eddie made his way to the kitchen as well, but instead of the raging expression that was prominent was now filled with mischievous contempt. Richie backed up immediately. 

“Woah, Woah, Woah,” He said as Eddie backed him up against the counter. Eddie, with no shame, started poking his chest vehemently. “Kinky, huh?”

“Tell me what I did.” 

Richie made a show of himself thinking it over. “Nope.”

Eddie, now realizing it was futile, quite literally gave up. He physically looked like the life was drained out of him. If Richie wasn’t that headstrong, he might’ve bent and told him. Sadly, he was extremely headstrong, which meant he did not tell Eddie what had happened last night. 

A bright idea seamed to spark through Eddie’s mind. 

“Richie?”

“Yeah Eds?” He said as he washed the mug under the hot water.

“Would you be interested in going to the art museum with me?”

“The fuck? Why would I want to go somewhere only old grandmas and broke people go to?”

Eddie scoffed. “For one, you _are_ a broke person.”

“Does that make you an old grandma?”

Eddie hmphed. “If you don’t tell me, then we go to the art museum.”

“Eds, you can’t physically drag me to the museum.”

He arched a brow. “You want to bet on that?”

===

Two hours later, Richie and Eddie were standing in what Beverly would say, “Where hippies would go to get high.”

In other words, where Richie would go if he wanted to re-enact a freak show. 

“Still don’t understand why we’re going to an art museum, of all places.”

Eddie smiled, but it wasn’t a good one. “You seem like the type of person who wouldn’t enjoy this type of thing.”

“You seem like the type of person to make me cry.”

Eddie’s smile depleted a bit but was back up when a person who worked at the museum came up to them. 

“Hiya fellas, what are you interested in doing’ today?”

Internally, Richie was screaming at what great payback this was. Externally, he smiled sweetly and told the lady what they were interested in. 

Taken aback, the lady almost ran at what Richie had suggested. He looked over at Eddie to see him with a half-suppressed laugh hidden in his facial features. He considered it a point for himself, at the least. 

“You going to scare off every person we meet?”

“Nah,” Richie said. “But if it comes to it, I’ll do anything to protect my dear Eds.”

Eddie scowled, then climbed the steps. Richie followed. 

“I still don’t know why we’re here.”

“And I still don’t know what I said last night.”

“Why do you want to know so badly?” Richie teased. Eddie tensed up almost immediately, making him want to take back what he said. 

“Because if I said anything fucked up, I would want to know!” Eddie snapped back at him. 

Richie let go of it, and into the art museum, they went. 

______________________________

“What the fuck is this shit?”

Their previous mini fight on the steps had been ignored. Richie was now annoying Eddie about the seemingly endless stream of abstract art in the hall. 

Eddie rolled his eyes as Richie described the art in as much of a meticulous way as possible. Honestly, Richie was just trying to erase the last ten minutes from his mind, and the best way to do that was what he always did. Start talking.

“And _this_ one, what the fuck is this guy even doing?”

“Shut up.”

“Never, Eds, darling.”

Eddie snorted and continued his stroll in the big hall. 

He didn’t know why he wanted to go to the art museum. Sure, his major was art history. He’d been to the art museum so many times. But he didn’t know why he wanted to go with _Richie_. 

The whole soulmate ordeal scared Eddie. It didn’t scare him when he first saw the mark when he was sixteen, but when he saw the mark flare up when he touched Richie’s hand, well, that terrified him. He fled the library even though he knew that was unprofessional and he had fled when Richie’s comment that day rubbed him the wrong way. He was pretty sure the next time he fled, the universe would pick him up by its finger and plop him right back into his place. With Richie. 

He was incredibly grateful for Richie, and how he had let him stay after the godforsaken building had drowned in its dread. And how he hadn’t commented that much on being soulmates. What Eddie had said that day had been true; he wanted to be just friends. 

______________________________

The cafe at the museum was what Richie regarded as the best and most interesting part of the damn place. It had food. That was good enough for him. 

Eddie had gone to the upper floor in hopes of a washroom. Richie was incredulous. Why weren’t there any washrooms near the cafe? Eddie had shrugged and went off. 

He ordered a coffee, then considered buying another for Eddie. Then he remembered the first morning of their wonderful camaraderie. 

=====

Richie had grumbled his way to the kitchen to discover that his new (and hopefully improved!) roommate was already up. 

“So, you’re a morning person,” He grouched as Eddie turned.

He was making eggs at the stove, and much to Richie’s surprise, they weren’t burnt like Stan’s. Upon seeing that Richie had woken up, Eddie brought another egg out of the fridge. 

“You know I had to go to the store to get these?” Eddie said angrily, “Your fridge isn’t stocked at all.”

Richie shrugged, “I guess Stan’s the only one who cooks, so I don’t know what’s happening in there. Have I mentioned he is absolutely terrible at cooking? Well he is.”

Eddie cracked the egg on the pan, the oil sizzling and crackling, filling in the empty silence. Richie coughed. 

“Maybe, I’ll, um, make coffee?”

Eddie’s eyes widened and he shook his head. 

“What? You don’t drink coffee? Is that why you’re so bubbly and cheery all the time?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie said as he smashed the eggs on the pan. Richie wasn’t an expert on cooking, but he didn’t think that was how you made scrambled eggs.

Richie waited for a reply with less profanity.

Eddie sighed. “No, I don’t drink coffee.”

Grinning as he started up the coffee machine and grab a cup out of the cupboard, he replied. “No wonder, Eds.”

“You suck.”

====

Eddie came back from the washroom in what seemed like an hour, and they set off for what Eddie called, “The minimalist shit,” which Richie didn’t expect from someone who was studying art history. 

Once again, as Eddie bounded toward the sign, Richie complained about why the fuck they were at the _art_ museum of all places, but it was all for show. The second they entered the museum, he could see Eddie physically relax, much unlike the sullen and placid face he was used to, with the only emotions that depicted on his face being anger or exasperation, usually aimed at Richie. Of course, Eddie did smile, but it was now kind of a rare thing considering Rich-

“-ie, I have to get this,” Eddie said apologetically. Richie snapped out of his reverie, nodding. 

He spent time gazing at what he thought was bland, pieces of canvas. They were just the same images repeated over and over again, just thirty thousand dots on a canvas. No wonder Eddie thought it was minimalistic shit. 

Eddie came back in no time, a little bit pale. Richie glanced worriedly at the sudden change of expression. 

“Hey, you okay? Who called you?”

Eddie waved nonchalantly. Richie raised his eyebrows. Eddie sighed.

“It was,” Eddie waved almost maniacally. “It was my therapist.”

Richie gaped. “No shit dude, you have a therapist?”

Eddie glared. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Richie said apologetically. He changed his tone to be softer. “You wanna tell me about it?”

Contemplating - Eddie, in Richie’s words, told him about it. 

As it turned out, Eddie’s previous words about the humidity in Houston were a lie. Of course, Richie would’ve believed it anyway. The real reason was because of his mother, who Richie found out, was a total _dickwad._ A fucking menace.

“Your mother,” Richie took in, “Lied to you about your health,” Richie took more in, “Your entire life?”

Eddie nodded weakly. They were now sitting in Richie’s car because both of them agreed that a museum was no place to talk about this kind of shit. The coffee between them lay abandoned. He had to admit, the angle he was sitting at was the weirdest one he’s ever been in ( _wow_ , there are a lot of jokes he could’ve made with that one).

“I never questioned it, because I thought she was protecting me,” Eddie said, his words hitching a little. Richie didn’t comment. “I figured that was normal, the nagging, that was how all parents loved their children.”

Richie scoffed. “Well, you were _very_ wrong, Spaghetti.”

“No, there’s more,” Eddie said. Richie waited for the other boy to continue. He thought he could see Eddie’s eyes shining a bit.

“I ran that day because I was afraid,” Eddie whispered, barely making a sound, “Because the only love I ever received was toxic, and I just thought…”

He trailed off. Richie got the cue, and he, very uncomfortably and not to mention, awkwardly, took his hands. 

“Eddie.”

He looked up. 

“Your mom is a fucked-up bitch.”

Eddie smiled a bit like that, and although he was crying a little, Richie thought he looked lovely, which was _not_ a word he used often.

“Yeah,” He said softly. “Remember when I told you the only people who came out of my town were fuck-ups and old people?”

Richie sneakily grinned. “Is it true?”

Eddie shrugged. “I guess it is, considering my mother came out of it.”

Richie was struck by a revelation. “Wait, you fucking ran away from your mother and escaped to this place?” Incredulous, Richie wrung the air. 

“Well I left her in Derry, and she followed me to Houston, and I had to run again. I really don’t think she’ll find me here though; she knows I hate it.”

Richie gaped, astounded. “Here I thought you liked it here.”

Eddie smiled and wiped his eyes, taking his hands away from Richie’s. Immediately, he felt an emptiness waiting to be filled. 

“Thanks for not like, freaking out over me sobbing in your car I guess.” 

Richie snorted. “I’ve had much worse, Spagheds. You didn’t even make it to the top ten. Watch MOJO doesn’t even qualify you.”

Eddie groaned, still wiping tears. “I hate you.”

“I love you, too.”

And with that, they drove back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Sorry for not updating in a week, it's been kinda hectic. There's a huge heatwave where I live :(


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, surprise, even college students are able to eat a decent dinner.

After the whole sobbing-in-the-car fiasco, things felt different between the two. Not different, but now Richie felt at least Eddie trusted him more. But the tension every time they talked ceased, and Eddie no longer held back laughter, which was good. 

December came around and there were lights everywhere on campus. Lights in the cafeteria, lights in the library, even lights in the fucking bathrooms. Richie complained about the excess amount of the flashing orbs to Eddie almost every day of the first week of November. 

“It’s not even fucking Christmas yet and there are lights everywhere.” Richie wailed, slurping on coffee. “I swear if I see another flashing light right in my face, I’m going to combust.”

“Go for it,” replied Eddie. 

“You’re no help.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while before Richie had a revelation. 

“What are you doing for Christmas anyway?”

Eddie frowned. “Not anything. I just want to stay here. With you.”

The statement made Richie almost blush, and the beat of his heart went a faster rate, even if it was depressing as fuck. Then he took a leap for the greater good.

“I’m visiting my family for Christmas.”

Eddie’s face drops even more than it previously did. Disappointment graced his tight face like how a small child would react to not having a Christmas present. “Ah.”

Richie sighed. “Idiot. I should’ve phrased that better. I was thinking you could come with me?” 

Eddie’s frown took on a lighter tone. It wasn’t a smile, really. More like a hopeful frown. 

“Really?” Eddie said, trying too hard to look nonchalant.

Richie grinned. “Really.”

______________________________

Two weeks later, Richie and Eddie loaded Richie’s battered car, and off they went. 

The car trip took over three hours, from NYU to Trenton, but between the songs Eddie had on shuffle and Richie’s rambling, they made it through. 

In less than no time, they were at the front door of a well-kept house. The front door had a _Welcome_ sign and flowers were growing in the flower bed. This wasn’t something Eddie thought Richie would’ve grown up with, but here they were. 

Richie grinned. “Ready to meet the Toziers?”

Smiling tentatively, Eddie nodded. He had a feeling of dread set in his stomach, but he nodded anyway because what else was he supposed to do?

The door was knocked on. The door was opened.

The first thing Eddie saw was nothing. Well, all he saw was the wall. He looked at Richie. 

“Why the fuck did the door open by itself?”

Richie’s gaze wasn’t on him, rather it was _down_. Eddie thought, _Oh I get it, Richie has a pet, and the fucking pet opened the fucking door_. He looked down as well. 

“Rich, did your friend just say a bad word?”

Eddie met the curious eyes of a little girl, maybe nine or ten. She was in her pyjamas and her arms were on her hips. Richie was smiling sweetly at her, softer than Eddie had ever seen him. 

“Yep. My friend just said the baddest word out there.”

The girl giggled, eyes crinkling. She had the barest resemblance to Richie, but the curls in her hair and the wild eyes were the same. “You say it all the time.”

Richie had the nerve to be affronted, hand splayed across his chest, eyes bugged out. “I do _not_.”

She nodded. “Yeah, you do.”

“Just don’t tell mom, okay?” Richie said as they shut the front door. The girl smiled before skipping away. 

“That your sister?” asked Eddie as he followed Richie to the end of the long corridor. Richie hummed a reply.

“Name’s Stella,” said Richie, who had a fondness for her. 

Siblings were never a notion that crossed Eddie’s mind. As far as he knew, Sonia Kaspbrak never had any children before Eddie, and certainly never had any after. He grew up with an overbearing mother and that was that. 

They passed the vacant parlor when Eddie realized something. 

“Richie,” said Eddie, looking around. “Why is your house so big?”

Richie smirked. “I’m loaded. I can even become your sugar daddy.”

Eddie scoffed, fending off the emotions riling up in him when Richie grinned like that. Seemed to be happening more and more. “Like I’d want a sugar daddy.”

Richie hummed. “I’d make a great sugar daddy.”

Eddie started to reply, but the door burst open before he could. 

“Dickard! What was it I heard about sugar daddies?”

Richie groaned. “Great greeting, dad. Also, mom sugar mama’d _you_.”

The man in front of them shrugged, clearly not focused on Richie anymore. His gaze was on _him_. 

===

Richie’s father, bless his soul, did not comment about a new face in the house. Truth to be told, his parents had not known about the surprise visitor. Maybe he should’ve commented, but again, Wentworth Tozier knew that his son interacted with all sorts of people, the majority of them well enough. 

“Hi, I’m Eddie,” introducing himself. His father nodded, smiling warmly at the boy.

“And I am Dickard’s dad.”

Richie rolled his eyes. “Where’s your sugar mama?” 

Dickard’s dad smiled, eyes brightening. “She’s resting. I’m doing the cooking today!”

Eddie glanced at Richie questionably, silently asking if that was a good thing. Subtly, Richie nodded, and Eddie wilted in relief. 

Went seemed to notice because he smiled lightly. “Don’t worry, I won’t poison you.”

Eddie smiled weakly, giving the other man a thumbs up. 

Since they both had nothing better to do and Went didn’t want them to “disturb the process of art”, Richie and Eddie went upstairs to spent time with Stella.

Well, it was more Eddie played with Stella. She’d demanded him to be placed lying face down on the floor while she performed makeshift surgeries on his back, which was just knocking a small plastic hammer on it. Richie had no problem with this as he laid down next to Eddie, admiring the view of his terrified face. 

“This,” gasped Eddie, “is not great.”

Richie snorted, bopping his somewhat adorable nose. “She’s barely scratched the surface, pal.”

Eddie groaned, not being able to come up with a comeback suitable for a child’s ears. 

Eddie finally found an excuse to hide from Stella and fled downstairs to fetch water ,Stella finally focused all her attention on Richie.

He raised a brow. “What? I’m not available for any upcoming surgeries. I can’t pay the bills.”

She scrunched her nose. “You like him.”

A stone dropped in his stomach. 

“You guys have the same tattoo,” she continued. “You’re soulmates.”

Curse her for being so attentive. “Stella, even if I like him, he probably doesn’t like _me_.”

She giggled. “Sure, silly.”

“How do you even know? He’s barely said a word to me.”

She shrugged. “I just do.”

Even though he didn’t think relying on his nine-year old’s sister’s judgment was a good idea, the notion of Eddie thinking of him as more than a great roommate was giving him a warm feeling in his stomach. 

Eddie didn’t come back to Stella’s room, probably because Stella terrified him, but he did holler at them, “Your dad said dinner is ready!” which prompted them both to hurry down, Stella’s short legs running faster than Richie’s nimble ones. Unfair.

His mom was upset, chastising Went for using a metal spoon on her very expensive pot while simultaneously asking Eddie about his life, which was something Richie thought only a mother could do so efficiently. 

The whole scene looked so domestic that Richie could picture it happening normally, not just Christmas dinner. It also made him sick to his stomach because he knew it would never happen. Fucking hell, all of a sudden, he was thinking about domestic life with Eddie when he knew Eddie only wanted to be friends. But a sick part of him thought, all the fucking time if that weren’t the case. 

===

All Richie had to say about the occasion was that it went surprisingly well.

The ride back home seemingly felt shorter than the ride from home, and they got back to the dorm before midnight, because they had plans with Stanley and Patty the next day and Maggie wanted them to drive back safely. They both knew that they wouldn’t be able to fall asleep, maybe because they were in college and rarely got sleep anyway, and they silently agreed that sleep was the last thing on their minds. Richie was out of ideas, but Eddie proposed one.

When Eddie asked to do something after the dinner (which Richie replied with “Do me”), Richie hadn’t imagined they would be playing Uno for over two hours. The last time he had played Uno had been when he was nine. Yet here they were, sitting on the cold, hard ground with their backs hunched, which wasn’t doing wonders for any of them. 

“Can you fucking go?”

Richie started, his glazed eyes scanning the floor. Eddie had gone already. 

“Uhm,” Richie tipped his face toward the never-ending pile. Glancing at his deck, he didn’t have many options. Glumly, he said, “I can’t go.”

As quick as lightning, Eddie slapped down his remaining two cards. “ _Ha.”_

Richie stared at the cards while Eddie cheered for himself. The little bastard had already won all the games they played, and he never ceased to bring the same amount of energy to every triumph. Eddie, Richie realized very early on, was competitive, maybe _too_ competitive. 

The faded lights of the room illuminated his smiling face in a way, Richie thought, made him look younger. Richie usually saw him with a pinched, worried expression, and no matter how many times he tried to make him smile, it seemed that expression had been permanently etched there like a tattoo poorly drawn while drunk. Or maybe it was because he was fucking exhausted. 

Eddie, still vainly proud of himself, squinted down at Richie. “Aren’t you going to deal with the cards?”

Richie blinked rapidly, focusing on the large blob in front of him. Either his contacts weren’t working, or he was _that_ tired. 

Eddie voiced his thoughts out loud. “Are your contacts bothering you?”

Richie shut his eyes and shook his head. He could hear the shuffling of the boy, practically hearing the sound of his eyebrows pinching together. He felt a slight poke in his arm, and he peeked one eye open.

“Did you just fucking poke me?”

Eddie shrugged. “I don’t know, you look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Richie felt his eyes tremble. _Tremble_. 

Eddie seemed to understand that there would be no next Uno game. 

“Richie, you should go to sleep.”

“Yeah.” Richie agreed, rubbing his eyes. He planted his arms on the ground but soon felt the wobble of his limbs, knowing that if he tried to get up, he would crash right back down to the floor. Eddie hid his smile.

“Eddie,” Richie pleaded. “Please spare me the pain and help me.”

Eddie snorted but dragged him up anyway. Together, with one arm slung on Eddie’s shoulder, they made it to Richie’s room. 

“Why the fuck are you so tired anyway?”

Richie groaned, slicing his hand through the air weakly. His eyes fluttered, and he could barely make out anything Eddie was saying. Amazingly, Eddie seemed to know.

“Did you stay up again?”

Richie did not stay up again, but Eddie didn’t know that so he gave him a barely inconceivable nod, and Eddie snorted again. “You know if you keep doing that, you’ll go blind?”

His eyes opened brightly. “I’m half blind already, so what gives, right?”

Eddie hummed, pushing him down on the bed as he turned to go. 

“Eddie?”

He tipped his head back. The atmosphere in the room changed and the temperature went up by almost 5 degrees.

“Yeah, Rich?” Impossibly soft. Richie didn’t think he’d ever used that nickname before, regardless of the countless times, Richie has used nicknames on him. He chose his next words carefully, or as careful as his muddled mind could manage. 

He must’ve been silent for a long time because Eddie was still standing there, wide eyes expectant.

Richie breathed out. 

“If we’d met years ago, without all this soulmate shit,” Richie cringed at his words, not knowing what he was saying. “Do you think we’d be friends or enemies?”

The words Eddie spoke left Richie haunted for the rest of the week, maybe even months. He looked beautiful then, the moonlight hitting his eyes and making his face light up in an _almost_ smile. 

“I don’t think we’d be either.”

He felt the ghost of Eddie’s hand leave his arm like a feather of the last kiss, and everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was crappy, I know. Did not have inspiration, at all. Feel free to criticize this monstrosity.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Richie asks Beverly what to do, and she's not exactly helpful.

The exhaustion Richie felt on Christmas night seemed to follow him for what seemed like the rest of his days. The lids of his eyes constantly felt heavy and he could hear it in his voice that he always sounded drunk, which wasn’t right because he  _ never drank _ , which Eddie didn’t seem to believe when he had first told him. Shit, no one seemed to believe it.

“You’ve  _ never _ had alcohol?” Beverly had asked during their freshman year, incredulous. Richie that it was a perfectly acceptable question considering how chaotic he was sometimes. The truth was, he was  _ scared _ of what would happen if it entered his system, his blood, his  _ mind _ . He knew that although he was lucky with how good his parents were to him, some didn’t win the lottery. He knew the bruises and scratches and terror in Beverly’s eyes when someone unexpectedly touched her stemmed from her own  _ dad _ , which was just fucked up. Richie knew it was sort of stupid but he thought if he drank, something would just  _ snap _ , and he was terrified of what he was capable of. So he kept away from it. There was also the possibility he could let secrets slip out. 

Now, he felt like this  _ all the time _ . It was like seeing without glasses. And he had no clue how to stop the fucking thing.

Eddie picked up on the situation pretty fast, considering he lived with him and spent almost all of his time in the same room as Richie.

Richie had been wallowing his pounding head into a bowl of cereal, stirring mercilessly when Eddie slammed his hands onto the table, glaring at him. _Eddie was sort of unpredictable_ , Richie thought as the dark brown, almost black eyes pierced his blurry ones.

“Rich,” said Eddie, eyebrows crinkling. Somehow, the way Eddie said his name made him feel  _ worse _ . Like, gut-wrenchingly worse. Richie felt his vision blur even more.

“Richie,” he repeated, not administering what Richie was feeling at the moment. He managed a feasible smile back, which furthered Eddie’s frown.

“Are you sick? Need the doctor?”

Somehow Richie knew the doctor wouldn’t be able to help him, so he shook his head. Eddie looked unconvinced. 

“There’s something wrong with you.”

Richie snorted. The hammering in his head reduced and replacing it was a clarity he hadn’t felt in days.  _ Maybe it’s because of Eddie _ , his brain thought. Richie immediately erased the thought.  _ Yes, I feel drunk all the time because, for some reason, Eddie is making this happen _ . At this point, he wanted his brain to just completely shut down because  _ it wasn’t true. _

He was dead wrong.

Richie couldn’t find an excuse as to why every time he so thought of that brown-haired boy there would be shivers down his spine, his neck would tense up and he would feel the urge to throw up in the nearest bathroom. Stan would mention how great Eddie was at turning Richie into a functioning adult, and he would feel a pounding against his eyes, then closing to find a smoky image of his face (which did not ease his thoughts at all, rather creep him out). 

Contrary to when Eddie demanded to know if he needed a doctor that day, whenever Richie was around Eddie, he felt better, like back to his normal self. It was eerily ironic. The person that was causing him to act like a drunkard was ultimately the morphine as well. 

He was tempted to tell Eddie, but there really wasn’t a way to explain it. What would he say,  _ Whenever I think of your face I automatically feel like the dead but whenever I  _ see _ your face I feel like the sun, so there you go _ . 

Hell no, he was going to suffer on his own. Or tell anyone other than Eddie. Maybe Beverly will believe it.

So after a frantic call with Beverly asking why Richie was calling at  _ fucking _ one in the morning, the following day Beverly agreed to met up at the library.

Richie was already there, surrounded by masses of books which were surrounding an empty table he was planting his face on. He was feeling even worse than before, and the only thing that was preventing him from  _ ending _ it all was the thought of getting answers, here he was.

Footsteps approaching his isolated table made him glance up. Beverly was looking somewhat worriedly at him yet annoyance was laced in her features as well. She plopped down into the empty seat and glared at him. Richie smiled innocently at her.

She sighed. “Richie, are you going to tell me why you called me at one in the morning?”

“I just wanted to remind you how much I _love_ _you_ ,” He smiled, batting his eyelashes flirtatiously at her. He must've done the impression pretty bad because she glared harder, worry was still in her eyes.

“ _ Richie _ .”

He raised his hands in a universal sign of surrender. As his hands went down, he laced them together and unlaced them, fidgeting.

“I haven’t been feeling well.”

Beverly snorted. “Yeah, no shit.”

Affronted, he mockingly put a hand on his chest. “I thought I was being stealthy!”

“Come on, Rich, you haven’t made a single obscene joke in  _ three days _ . The last time you did that was when your dad yanked your tooth out.”

Richie cringed, remembering that painful week. 

Beverly continued talking. “So yeah, you obviously haven’t been feeling well, just tell me  _ why _ .”

Richie sighed dramatically.

“Bev, for some reason, my head hurts all the fucking time, but its a different type of headache.”

“What kind of headache?”

“It’s a migraine, but the pounding you would get in your head happens everywhere else as well.”

Bev looked up sharply, eyes narrowing. “Everywhere?”

Richie nodded, not noticing the way Beverly tensed. 

“Do you know why it’s happening?” asked Beverly, and Richie gave her an unconvincing shake of his head. Beverly stayed quiet for a minute while they both contemplated what was happening.

“I think  _ I _ know why it’s happening,” she said quietly, not looking in his eyes. Richie widened his bleary eyes.

“You do?”

She nodded hesitantly. “Is it because of Eddie?”

Richie, of all the things he was expecting, did not expect that to blurt out of Beverly’s mouth. She could have said something about STDs and he wouldn’t have been surprised at all.

“Uh,” Richie stammered. “Maybe?”

Bev scowled at him. “You know it’s about Eddie, don’t you?”

She continued. “When I was eight, my mom died.”

Richie frowned. “Your solution to this is telling me your villain origin story?”

Beverly slapped his arm. “No fucknuts, I’m telling you what I know.”

“Before she did, she was always going around the house like you are right now, slurring and rambling and tired all the time. She talked about how dad didn’t love her anymore and she knew it, and that was why she was dying. I don’t know about you but that’s kind of hard to believe. And that wasn’t the only thing she was doing, Rich.”

“What did she do?”

“Richie,” Beverly said, rubbing her eyes. He had a flashback to another night when they were sixteen, laughing under the midnight sky and curled up in blankets, free from the world. It had only been Beverly and Richie that day, when the third member of the trio was sick and in bed.

“She was coughing up  _ something _ ,” said Bev, brow furrowed in concentration. “I forgot  _ what _ , but it was something, and it was all the time too.”

Richie arched a brow. “So she died by choking on something.”

Beverly scowled. “No, she died from a failed surgery, but I forgot  _ why _ .”

Richie knew to not ask why she couldn’t just ask her family, but the only living family she had left was her abusive dad halfway across the country.

At this point, Bev took a shaky sip out of Richie’s water bottle and waited for Richie’s input.

“Wait,” said Richie. “You said she kept saying it was your dad’s fault.”

She scrunched her nose. “All I remember is dad not being around before her death.”

Richie had thoughts formulating in his muddled brain, but nothing was coming together. As far as he knew, coughing and drunkenness didn’t circle around to surgery, and death certainly didn’t occur as well, so maybe-

A sharp, jabbing pain emerged in his stomach and he inhaled sharply. Bev was looking up at him worriedly now, her guarded gray eyes looking him once over. 

“Richie?” she whispered sharply. “What’s happening right now?”

Richie shook his head, but that only made the pain worse. All he could think of at the moment was how to stop the fucking stabbing feeling happening in his stomach. Suddenly the pain receded, not ebbing but going away in an instant. But in its replacement was a terrible itch. 

An itch placed directly in his lungs.

Richie coughed loudly, and rather harshly as the clawing feeling tried to make its way  _ up _ , but it wasn’t a cough. Beverly was wrong. The sound he was making was more heavy, and not filled with mucus or anything of the sort. He felt heavy feather-like hands prying their way through his throat. 

He fought it, he really did, because if what Beverly told him was true, and if his ideas for what was happening were right, he needed to keep that feeling down.

The object was now at the back of his throat, and in a desperate and stupid attempt to  _ keep it down _ he tried swallowing it, and a second later, he realized it was a mistake.

The final cough in his throat finally clawed his way out, and his eyes focused on the object he had  _ definitely _ coughed out of him.

A yellow flower had landed on the floor, right by Richie’s foot. He narrowed his eyes on it.

“Why the  _ absolute _ fuck was there a fucking  _ flower _ in me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I used entirely too many italics, and for that I apologize.
> 
> School's starting in two weeks (I live in canada)? so idk if i'll be able to post weekly, but i'll try my best lol


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a fiesta featuring 5/7 of the Losers Club (plus Patty!) takes place while Richie suffers from an abnormal cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning - mention of drugs and vomiting

Eddie knew he was forgetting something.

Growing up, he had a strict schedule ingrained in his mind, courtesy of his mother’s nagging even when she wasn’t around him. Nothing was let slip, but now, something in his mind was nowhere to be found. 

The forgetfulness unnerved Eddie for the simple reason that he _never did_. He knew other people forget things all the time. His previous roommate, Ben, had always managed to forget the keys, making Eddie go back to the dorm to unlock the door. This was one of the many reasons he transferred, but he had no lingering animosity towards him. He didn’t hold any grudge against Richie either.

Richie forgot things all the time. He often didn’t remember when his classes started, he didn’t remember what he was supposed to buy, and most importantly, he never remembered to _sleep_.

The night they had come back from his parent’s home and back to the apartment, Richie looked exhausted, more exhausted than a sleep-deprived college student should’ve looked. He had blamed it on YouTube and Netflix but Eddie knew it wasn’t the case. He had mumbled to Eddie about the reality of their unreal situation and Eddie had given him a reply. And he couldn’t _remember_ what he had said back to Richie. 

He stared out of the window in concentration, but nothing came to his mind. Even when he was close to dropping on the ground from fatigue, he never forgot. So why now?

His thoughts cracked when a distinct knock came at the door, the familiar rhythm only heard on Sundays. 

The tall figure was still putting his hand down to his side when Eddie opened it. 

“Stan?”

Stanley grinned in his shy and dry way. Eddie felt a bout of anxiety burst through him. They hadn’t been prepared to clean the flat because today was Wednesday, and Stan usually came and checked on Sundays. 

Eddie allowed him in, his eyes travelling from the messy tabletop to the mess in the small kitchen. 

Eyes with good humour, Stan said, “I guess Sundays are pretty busy.”

Eddie nodded sullenly while Stan cracked a smile and dismissed it. He must’ve already figured the house wasn’t like this all the time. 

He changed the subject. “Are you looking for Richie? He’s at the library with Beverly. 

Frowning, Stan nodded. “I heard about that. But I came to talk to you.”

Again, the anxiety in him tore open. There weren’t many times they had talked together alone and when they did, it was usually to spite and make fun of Richie. As far as he knew, Stanley had hated him because of the incident in the first month Richie and Eddie met. Perhaps his feelings for Eddie had settled into an unemotional tolerance, but that was all he would expect.

Stanley made his way to the lumpy sofa, patting it as he sat down. Eddie awkwardly followed.

“Uh,” Eddie said cautiously. “What did you want to tell me?”

Stanley exhaled. “You live with Richie, right?”

Eddie didn’t know if this was a trick question, but he answered anyway. “Er, yes?”

“Then you know that there’s something wrong with him?”

Instantly he felt defensive of Richie, but he knew that Stanley meant there wasn’t anything wrong with him, there was something wrong with how he was _acting_. 

He felt relief that another person noticed. “You caught that, too?”

Richie’s best friend nodded, the worry in his eyes imperceptible to another eye, but Eddie was used to people hiding emotions, enough for him to decipher them. “He told me he was up watching YouTube videos, but he’s been watching YouTube videos until the morning since we were teenagers and he’s never been this tired.”

Curiosity sparked through Eddie at what Richie was like during his teenage years, but that would be a question for another time. 

Stanley continued, brow creased. “He’s snappy, too. The last time he was snappy was when he was under anesthesia, which was four years ago.”

He shrugged and glared at Eddie as if he had something to do with it. _Maybe he thinks I drugged him_ , Eddie thought. 

“I don’t know what’s happening with him either,” Eddie said right as Stan shot up from the sofa and started pacing, mirroring what he did almost three months ago.

“How long has he been acting like this?”

Eddie thought before saying, “Christmas night.”

“Did he do anything before that was wonky?”

He snorted at the word but said no.

Stan sighed again, but there was amusement in his voice. “I hope he didn’t do hard drugs. Especially not here.”

Eddie cringed at the mention of drugs, which Stan seemed to notice because he didn’t bring it up after. Stan looked worried again and was about to ask something when his phone rang through the empty apartment. 

The caller ID showed the name Patty-Cake, and Eddie knew who it was because Richie had said to him that “Stan finds it hilarious”. Stanley’s face softened a fraction and lit up when a bright, lilting voice was heard. Stan sat back down on the sofa.

“Pats,” said Stan, in a way of greeting. “I’m with Eddie.”

He couldn’t make out what Patty was saying but it must’ve been funny because Stan broke out in warm laughter. “All right. But we’ll be at Richie’s place tonight, so tomorrow?”

The voice in the phone agreed and Stan hung up with a happy expression on his face.

Stan looked at the expression on Eddie’s face. “What?”

“You’ll be at our place tonight?”

Confused, Stan replied. “Yeah, the party thing Bevvie said to do. You don’t remember?”

Eddie hadn’t remembered at all. _Another thing forgotten_. What was happening? Now that Stan explained, he could remember. Richie had complained about why the party was happening at their place and not at Bev’s, and Eddie had offered no comment. Richie carried on with the conversation as he usually did - by himself - and Eddie let his thoughts get carried away - not what he usually did.

Now they both sat in awkward silence, the dimly lit room illuminating Stan’s light brown eyes, turning into an amber. 

Another knock at the door made them both swivel heads, but they heard a curse and jingling, and the door opened. 

Richie stood there with bags under his eyes and a look of alarm and dread in his eyes. Beverly was behind him, red hair looking a dark crimson in the room. She took in the sight of Stanley and Eddie on the sofa, with their awkward angles and ungraceful poise and broke out into a weak grin. 

“What have _you_ two been doing?”

===

To describe it as a party would be an overstatement, Richie could only describe it as a small gathering of insane idiots, but that was his mind talking. His mind was probably going crazy, but not as crazy as the rest of his body. 

_A flower_ , he mused. _A fucking flower in me_.

Luckily, no other earthly objects lurched out of his mouth after the library, which was good because he did not want to tell anyone. Beverly had promised to keep it a secret for him, warm, concerning eyes piercing into his own. 

“You know why, don’t you?” Beverly had asked when she saw his face. Richie had the faintest sense, a multitude of thoughts swirling in his head but not joining together to form an idea. All he knew was that Eddie had something to do with it.

Right after the “coughing of the flowers”, Richie felt the tattoo on his inner wrist pound silently, like a migraine. He had rolled up his sleeve to find nothing wrong, but the pounding kept going. When he finally reached the front door and opened the door to find Stan and Eddie sitting on the sofa in awkward silence, the burning miraculously went away. 

So yes, either all this was due to Eddie or Stan was just a natural-born healer. 

The mini gathering roared in his ears. Patty was talking quietly with Bill in the kitchen while they made guacamole unsuccessfully, Stan was out buying more chips or whatnot, and Eddie was watching TV with Beverly. Richie stationed himself right next to Beverly, but his gaze wasn’t focused on anything, certainly not the screen in front of him.

His knowledge of flowers was about as thorough as his knowledge in having 20/20 vision, but the flower in the library was a daffodil, which he knew from his father. 

Stan was now back, and the crinkle of plastic followed him. Beverly was squealing next to him, the weight of her body leaving the sofa.

She clapped her hands. “Where did you find these?”

Of course, she was mentioning the chips Stan had brought. _Hickory Sticks_.

Bill also gravitated to the new chips Stan had brought, but his gaze was unlike Bev’s. He looked confused. “Hickory Sticks?”

Richie gripped the side of the sofa before standing up, but he didn’t feel as sick as before. _Because of Eddie_. 

“Did I hear you mention Hickory Sticks?” Richie asked cheerfully, catching sight of the familiar packaging. “Oh!” he cried, “You brought the food of the gods!”

Bill still looked as confused as ever. “I’ve never heard of them.”

Beverly scoffed. “Darling, you aren’t cultured at all. These are the best things that ever got made.”

Stan and Richie nodded to prove her point as Bill took a crunch. 

His eyes widened comically. “These are good.”

Beverly was already chomping down a handful, mouth stuffed. She managed a thumbs up.

At this point, Eddie had torn his view of the TV to look at the commotion. “What are they?”

Richie took a handful and shoved it in his mouth, the salty goodness momentarily giving him euphoria before Eddie slapped his arm.

“You jerk, I thought you were giving it to me!”

Richie grinned, swallowing the chips. “Too good to resist.”

At this point, Beverly had gulped down her share. “It’s better than sex.”

Bill coughed, giving her a wide look. She shrugged. “I’m just saying.”

In less than ten minutes, the four bags Stanley had bought were gone, the vast majority consumed by Stan, Beverly and himself. Eddie had eaten one of the small sticks and grimaced.

“It tastes like shit,” he declared, and Beverly had scoffed. 

Eventually, they all found their way to the front of the TV, watching a movie Beverly found that Richie didn’t know the name to. Eddie was sitting with his back to the sofa, tilting his head up to the ceiling. Richie sat on the opposite side, and his wrist was aching again. 

_I’m this close to him_ , he grumbled in his mind, _and you’re_ still _aching?_

His wrist did not reply. 

He made it halfway through the movie before feeling like he was going to throw up. The last time he threw up was when he was 10 and had the stomach flu, and it unnerved him that he wanted to throw up _now_. He felt a white flash in his eyes as he stood up shakily.

“I’m using the bathroom, so if you guys feel the need to shit at the moment, you’re too late.”

He raced to the small bathroom, cursing at the fact that the toilet was at the opposite end of the door. He tried to heave, but as soon as his face was over the toilet, the feeling left. 

Another feeling resided in the pit of his stomach and he realized it was the feeling he had in the morning. He started to _cough_. 

Choking, grabbing hands wrapped around his lungs as he struggled to get it out. _Not this again_ , he thought, _it hurts_.

Then suddenly the coughing feeling stopped, and he opened his damp eyes to find _another_ flower floating down, the petals rippling the water in the toilet, strangely hypnotizing. With a dejected sigh, he flushed the toilet and slumped on the floor.

“You know that’s unsanitary, right?”

Eddie was at the doorway, arms crossed and eyebrows tight, although the tips of his mouth were tilted up. He was a difficult person to read.

Richie felt a lazy smile rise in him at the sight of the other man. “I know, I’m just using my body as a giant mop.”

Eddie’s smile did not get bigger, but his eyes brightened a bit. “You would make a terrible mop. We _could_ use your hair to make a great mop though.”

Richie scoffed, feigning offence. “Are you saying my hair is as dry as a mop?”

Laughing, Eddie said, “Yep.”

The amused face slipped away and Richie saw in Eddie’s dark brown eyes that he was worried. 

“Richie,” he said, “Are you feeling okay? Tell me the truth.”

Richie sighed again, waving his hand lazily in the air. “Not really. I’ll be fine soon, though.” he lied.

His eyebrow raised up, making Richie think he wasn’t as convincing as he thought he was. “I don’t believe you.”

Richie felt his wrist ache again. Maybe the _closer to Eddie, the lesser the pain_ theory he had in mind wasn’t true after all. 

“You don’t have to believe me, Eds,” he said, letting his hand fall back on the cold floor. 

Eddie was almost about to retort with a _Don’t call me Eds_ when another knock came at the door. Their eyes met. Who could be at the door?

Richie heard Bill get up and he heard the door click open. A whisper was shared between the shadow and Bill when he finally let the shadow in, graciously.

The figure let his eyes travel warily between the group, clearly looking for someone. As far as Richie knew, the face did not look familiar, but there was a kindness in his eyes and sorrow as well. His favourite kind of people. 

Eddie made his way to Richie’s side at the edge of the door, curious as to who the stranger was when his eyes widened. 

“Ben? What are you doing here?”

Richie felt a pang of jealously shoot through him, but the feeling ceased just as fast. 

Ben looked relieved to see Eddie there as if he had looked for him everywhere and finally found him. 

“Eddie,” he said breathlessly. “You have to go back to Derry.”

Richie remembered Derry in their first conversation. _A place for seniors and fuck-ups. A place to escape._

Eddie’s face scrunched up in bewilderment. “Why?”

A stone dropped in Richie’s stomach just as Ben said words Richie never thought would be the words to come out of his mouth. Ben’s eyes turned sympathetic as he looked solemnly at Eddie. 

“Your mother passed away three days ago. You need to go back.”

The final cadences of time dropped and all hell broke loose.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> school starts in two weeks but at least im doing online lol  
> better enjoy the free time while it lasts i guess  
> also hickory sticks are actually bomb, definitely try them


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The library seems to be the only place where intense things happen.

“What do you mean his mom died three days ago? Why was he only _n_ _ow_?” 

Beverly’s voice ran clear and raw in Eddie’s mind, but it was still muffled by his own thoughts. All he really heard was the pounding of his heart and the loud voice in his head that screamed _run_. 

He was aware that most of his friends had gathered in the small kitchen, away from him, perhaps to give him as much space as he needed. They were probably wondering why he didn’t look sad. Truth was, he wasn’t feeling sad at all. Maybe grief, but definitely not _sad_. He wasn’t crying either. _Crying_ _is weakness_ , he could picture his now-deceased mother saying. He found it bullshit because whenever he cried as a kid, it seemed to be _her_ weakness. 

Bill was crouched down next to him, eyebrows drawn. He could still see some of the crumbs the chips left on the corner of Bill’s mouth, but it seemed like an inappropriate time to tell him. Eddie didn’t really know Bill, having only known him for two weeks and then forced to move out. The only thing he really knew about Bill was that he could trust him. 

Bill placed a tentative hand on Eddie’s shoulder, the gesture that had the question of _are you okay?_ All Eddie managed was a nod. The shock and surprise of Ben’s visit were already wearing off, and he got up from the sofa. 

______________________________________

Now if a handsome, not to mention hot dude came knocking on the door asking for the guy Richie had a lingering crush on, all he could do was not think about it. Hard to do when your own body is betraying you with every step and said hot guy is in fact, very hot. Seriously, the man’s chiseled jaw and rock-hard abs that he could visibly see was not helping Richie’s case. 

He fully accepted the fact he had a major, huge crush on Eddie Kaspbrak. Crush wasn’t even the right word for it. He’s had crushes before. There was a girl in his 9th-grade class, Sally Mueller. Or was it Mullen? He remembered feeling butterflies when she laughed and trying to talk to her, but the feelings he had for her were in no way comparable to the feelings his heart gave when he thought of _him_. With Eddie, there was this longing in his gut, tugging at him every time his name flashed underneath his eyes. It felt like a crush, yet it wasn’t a crush. It was too cheesy to say it was love at first sight, and he knew it _wasn’t_ love at first sight. More like I-have-no-idea-who-you-are at first sight. 

What made things worse was that he was sure Eddie didn’t reciprocate any feelings back. Sure, they had one bare moment together when he was sleep-deprived. The details were hazy to him, but he remembered how Eddie smiled at him in the dim-lit room and led him back to the bed. Curse his stupid brain for not remembering. Curse his stupid body for doing _this_ to him. Speaking of Eddie (rather _thinking_ of him), he could tell his friends were confused as to why Eddie’s reaction to the hot guy’s sudden arrival and the message was so placid. He had sat there on the sofa with a broken look in his eyes and a hard-line replaces where his lips should’ve been, but he didn’t look anything but blank. Richie had an urge to comfort him or just be near him, but he had a feeling Eddie wouldn’t like that, so he stayed put next to a very angry Beverly. 

“You mean to tell me that it took you three days to travel from Houston to New York?” She whispered angrily into Ben’s ear, who was blushing red with embarrassment. Probably because every single person who met Beverly was entranced, intimidated, or envious of her. 

“Please don’t blame him,” Eddie said, now up from the couch. He looked tired, but there was a set expression on his face. “He’s also right. I need to go back to Derry.” 

Richie already knew the horrors Eddie experienced because of his crapsack of a mother, and he felt obligated to remind Eddie that he didn’t _have_ to go. “Eddie, you-” 

“I’ll be okay,” said Eddie, the set look piercing Richie sharply. _Drop it_. With that, he left the living room, quietly closing the door behind him. 

Beverly coughed and waved an arm lazily in the air. “I think we need to go.” 

The majority of the “small gathering” started filing out of the tiny flat, save Ben and Bill. Ben because he had no other place to go and Bill because he was gracious enough to clean the place up. When asked why, Bill shrugged and said, “Eddie h-has enough to deal with right now and y-you do-n-n’t clean for shit.” 

Richie couldn’t argue with that logic. Bill hummed as quietly as he could as he fluttered from the kitchen table to the sink, scarfing down the last of the Hickory Sticks. He had offered Ben some but the towering, somewhat shy man had declined them. 

He could hear shuffling from the other end of Eddie’s room door and an occasional curse word, but he didn’t pursue. The pain in his wrist and the lingering pounding in his head was gone. The coughing was like a drug, he noticed because the flowers leaving his body always left him with a ghost of pain and nothing more. Because he really had nothing to do at the moment, the shock of the handsome stranger's sudden arrival and news wearing down, he decided to chat up with the newcomer. 

“So,” he said as cheerfully as he could, causing Ben to jump a little. “You were Eddie’s roommate?” 

Ben pursed his lips but nodded. Richie always had a radar for bad people and bad vibes, but so far, all Ben radiated was a whole lot of _hot_. “I didn’t know if he told you about me. I wouldn’t mind if he didn’t though,” he rushed on. “I feel like I’m associated with a bad time for Eddie.” 

Bill might have not understood what he meant but Richie did, so he nodded. Eddie hadn’t explicitly said to not tell anyone, but Richie knew better so he kept his mouth shut. Back then, no one would ever tell him secrets and he guessed they didn’t tell him any _now_ either, so when Eddie told him something, he knew was a secret, he kept it secret. 

“How did it take you three days to get here? Were you hiking?” 

“Uh,” murmured Ben, “It just took longer.” 

There was more to the story than that, but Richie left it. Another curse was heard in Eddie’s room and they exchanged a glance. 

“I think I should-” 

“I’ll get it,” Richie breezed past Ben at an alarming speed but stopped when he remembered Bill was still cleaning up. Such a great guy. 

“Hey, Bill?” 

The man’s head popped up, curious eyes peeking through the top of the cupboard. 

“You get Hickory Sticks at any convenience store near you.” 

Bill’s wide blue eyes almost teared up and Richie could hear him say under his breath, “They _are_ better than sex.” 

The next thing he did was knock on Eddie’s door. No sound came through, so he tried opening it. Locked. 

“Eddie?” He asked quietly. There was a shuffling and the door opened. 

He didn’t know what he really expected when Eddie opened the door, but it was _not_ in the top 5. There were tear marks streaming down his cheeks which seemed to just be fading away, the exact opposite of before Eddie went to his room. If he hadn’t opened the door, Richie wouldn’t have even known he’d been crying. What normally would happen if you were crying: red eyes, blotchy face, all of which were unseen as if they were never there. The product of years of hiding emotions. Richie had a sudden urge to punch Eddie’s late mother. Very hard. 

No words were spoken as Richie stepped into his room. More like Kim Kardashian’s house than a room. The entire place was spotless and the only thing that looked out of place was the duffel bag Eddie had brought when he first arrived at the door four months before. 

“Are you leaving?” 

A single sniffle rose from Eddie which signified as a _yes_ , and he felt a pang in his stomach. Richie knew he couldn’t go with him. There wasn’t an explicit reason, it just didn’t seem right. 

“I’m going back to Derry. Ben’s coming with me, I think.” 

The words sound like a hoarse whisper as they bounced off the bare walls and Richie didn’t know what to say back so all he did was nod. 

“I think,” he continued while rubbing his eyes. If Eddie wasn’t stuck in his feels, Richie would’ve chastised him, but now was decidedly not the time. “I think I should go.” 

“Okay,” Richie said quietly. And because he couldn’t help it, he added, “Have fun.” 

And to his surprise, Eddie snorted. 

_____________________________________

Ultimately, he did not realize how tough it would be without Eddie’s presence. When he was here, didn’t matter where he always knew that Eddie would come back shortly. Now was different. Now he was basically going to _Canada_ , and he wouldn’t be there for him. His body had responded with pangs of longing and worse, the coughing had come back. Now it came in shorter intervals and in whole flowers instead of small petals, which meant whatever he had was worsening. Beverly had snuck glances at him all through the party with worry in her eyes, and she also snuck glances at Eddie as if he had something to do with it. Which he did, but Beverly didn’t really know. She had an idea, but she didn’t know. _Oh yeah,_ Richie mused as he sat near the toilet, _I should_ _tell her. She’s great at this shit._

Or maybe tell Stan first. His best friends deserved to know. Except for Eddie. 

Was Eddie one of his best friends? Yeah, but Richie always thought of him as more, even when they had that huge fight during the first two days of “Eddie and Richie and friends”. Now that he had a big, fat crush on the dude, no, probably even more than a crush, ‘best friends’ didn’t even scratch the surface. 

He needed to tell Stanley. And Beverly. 

_______________________________________

Not surprisingly, Stanley showed up thirty minutes too early and Beverly showed up three minutes late to his immediate “BEST FRIENDS SINCE THIRD GRADE” meeting. The library was open, and Stanley was already there, so Richie agreed to meet there. 

Stanley sat with his biology textbook open in front of him as Richie walked through the breezy door. He was feeling better than he usually did, which was weird because Eddie was gone for at least two days now with Ben at his tail. He had left like he was traveling for a month, but as he exited, he flashed a watery smile that said he would come back as soon as possible. 

Stan looked up from his studying and gave him a look of surprise. “You’re ten minutes early.” 

“And you’re twenty minutes late, Staniel. What has gotten into you? Also, why do you write your notes like that?” 

Stanley scowled. “You don’t write notes at all.” 

Richie grinned. “And I still get the marks that I do.” 

About ten minutes later and Beverly finally arrived, her bright red hair flashing in rarely seen sunlight, Richie almost sighed in relief. 

“I can finally begin!” 

“Shut up, Rich, I had work to do.” 

Richie imitated her until she glared. “I _still_ have work to do. Hurry up please?” 

“Okay, okay,” He sat back down as she sat down. She and Stan were sitting opposite him as if they were students and he was a principal. 

“Beverly, my dear girl,” he said, turning towards her. “Remember three days ago when I was feeling a bit out of it?” 

“Yes.” 

Both Stan and Bev answered. 

Richie stared. “Ok, well, it stopped right after the whole _coughing_ thing, remember?” 

Beverly nodded while Stan looked blank. “ _Coughing_?” 

Richie continued. “You aren’t even caught up, my dude! Okay, so from Christmas Eve all the way to three days ago, I felt like shit. I’ve never been hungover before, so I don’t have a frame of reference, but it definitely felt like one. That’s how I felt for a _month_. But then, three days ago, I met Bev in the library to discuss my state of mind and she gave me some much-needed advice and then the advice must’ve cured me, but the side effect was _coughing up fucking flowers._ And now, it hasn’t stopped! Up to speed, yeah?” 

Stan closed his book, which meant Richie had finally caught his attention. “I really hope you’re joking.” 

“He’s not,” Bev added in. “My mom was the same.” 

Stanley’s eyes widened, clearly waiting for Richie to continue. 

“Do you know why?” 

“Um,” Richie said, sheepish. He had a theory, but if he said it, he would hear how stupid it sounded. 

Beverly seemed to know already, and it made Richie freak out more. “I have a slight, non-tested theory that it’s because of Eddie.” 

Stan was unfazed. “But why?” 

Richie was ready to throw hands. “ _Because_ I think I’m in love with him.” 

His face remained impassive as Richie silently screamed at him in the quiet library. “Go on.” 

“You aren’t confused by that?” 

“Honey,” Beverly’s kind eyes bore into his soul. “We all knew. Except for Bill. And Eddie.” 

Richie gasped for dramatic effect. “But I hid it so well!” 

“So, _what’s_ the problem? I’m not sure you being in love with Eddie is a problem, he seems to be just as in love with you as you are with him.” 

“He is _not_. And Stan, it _is_ the problem. Me being in love with him is causing the coughing of flowers, and I do not like it, not one bit. Please help me, the Man.” 

Stan sighed. “I believe you, but I don’t know how I can _possibly_ help you. Go to the doctor?” 

Richie stared. “Do you think I can go to the doctor?” 

“My mother did,” Beverly said quietly. “And her symptoms were the exact same as yours.” 

“Wait,” He paused. “Symptoms? I thought you didn’t remember?” 

“I do know. All this talk about you being in love with Eddie and him causing it made me realize that’s what mom meant. How it was all my dad’s fault. And now I remember what it was that made her die.” 

A cold chill shuddered its way down his spine as he took the new information in. “You said it was failed surgery.” 

“It was. I just remembered what the surgery was _for_.” 

Stanley had completely abandoned the discussion at this point and was now opening his laptop to find research on the topic. His keywords were probably _are my friends crazy or are they true?_ His pale face looked even paler in the ghostly white light of the screen as he scrolled through websites and looked for answers. 

“What was it for then, Bev?” 

She shuddered. “I forgot the exact name, and knowing that, it must’ve been a very weird word for me to forget, because I have a _very_ photographic memory, and-” 

“You’re rambling, Bevvie,” said Stan, who was still scrolling. Richie fidgeted with his fingers as he thought of the endless possibilities. Could he be building his own garden? It didn’t follow any science laws, growing a fucking _garden_ in his body. Also, whenever the flowers came out, they were dry as _fuck_ , which wasn’t normal because Eddie made him drink more than 8 cups of water a day and your stomach isn’t supposed to be dry anyway. 

“I remember it sort of, I think it started with a _g_ or was it _I_ , wait-” 

“It was an _h_ ,” whispered Stan, suddenly very, very still. The laptop was blaring white on Stanley’s face and as he sat back on the chair with alarm in his eyes, a dark shadow loomed over him. 

“An _h_ ?” Beverly sat, confused, and not reading the expression on Stanley’s face. “I swear it wasn’t an _h_.” 

Richie didn’t want to, he really didn’t, but curiosity killed the cat, and now it would take him as well. He made his way to the laptop. 

The article words flashed before his eyes as he made out things such as _unrequited love_ and _symptoms may vary, but every victim has one thing in common_ and that one thing was the one thing Richie thought about every day. 

“Stanley,” he started slowly as he gazed at the article and imagined dozens more. “What is the word?” 

When Stanley didn’t reply, Bev took a turn at asking him. “ _What’s_ _the word_?” 

“ _Hanahaki_ ,” he managed to choke out as his fingers grasped at the chair. He turned to face Richie with an odd look in his eyes. “You’re exhibiting symptoms of the _hanahaki_ disease, and the result if untreated is choking on a bed of flowers and dying. The good news is, there’s a cure.” 

Richie breathed out a sigh of relief. “Well, what was all the fuss about?” 

“Let him finish, Richie.” 

“Well, there are technically two cures. The first one is if you suddenly believe Eddie loves you back-” 

“Which he doesn’t,” Richie retorted. 

Stan shot him a glare. “The coughing and everything will go away.” 

“Okay,” Richie drawled out. “And the other cure?” 

“You can do surgery to extract all the roots of the flowers in you.” 

Beverly turned a little pale as well. “Both are great cures, Stan. Why do you look so scared then?” 

He scowled. “There’s a catch. If you take the surgery offer, it doesn’t only take away the flowers, it takes away your feelings and sometimes _memories_ of the person you loved. So, tell me, which cure will you take?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the very, very, very late chapter. Thank you for waiting!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie tries not to think about Caribbean cruise lines.

Stanley Uris knew how to make a dramatic exit. Well, it wasn’t as dramatic as Richie made it out to be. It still sent a shock down his spine when he heard the words _Which cure will you take_ , and it also reminded him of Percy Jackson. Beverly was gracious enough to drive Richie back to the flat because Richie had _walked_ to the library. He was not in the mood for walking back, not when he had just been offered a crap deal. Stanley had stayed in the seat as Beverly and Richie gathered their things, with a sympathetic look in his dark eyes. His laptop still open and he made one last remark.

“Rich, you have to see a doctor about this. If it’s _actually_ true…”

“Right-o, doc. Do your homework before Uncle Rich finds out you didn’t!”

He saluted again before Beverly ushered him out of the cold and tranquil room full of old books Richie knew no one read. The atmosphere in the car was the exact opposite of the space they left, filled with questions from Bev and tired answers from himself. Everything she asked had to do with the flowers and how they tied to _unrequited love_. Yes, that was the term for him condition.

Richie coughed again, but it wasn’t related. It was an _I’m kind of embarrassed to ask_ kind of cough. “Hey, babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you please not tell Eddie about this when he gets back? Or Bill?”

Beverly kept her eyes on the road, but Richie already knew she wasn’t the cheeriest at the moment. “Sure thing.”

The car’s rumbling and the beat of his heart should have been able to quell the thoughts swirling in his head, but all they did was amplify them.

===

Normally, Eddie would never go on a plane. When he went from Derry to Houston, he and his mom took a rental car and stuffed all his things in the trunk. When he practically ran away, he took a train. But now? Now he was heading right to LaGuardia Airport with Ben by his side, someone he thought he would never see again. And they were heading back to Derry.

He knew Ben kept shifting his eyes from Eddie to in front of him, but Eddie didn’t comment. He felt guilty, now that Ben was here. He could have told Ben about his plan. He _should_ have. Instead he left without saying a word, packing his bags in secret once Ben was asleep, or partying, or working out. There were times when he longed to tell Ben, just say _my mother is killing me slowly and I need to go before she really kills me_ , but he always vetoed the idea. 

“Are you okay, Eds?”

“Hm? Oh. Yeah, I guess.”

He had almost snapped back with a _don’t fucking call me Eds_ before he realized it was actually Ben, not Richie. He had been on his mind a lot recently. First it was because Richie was acting weird, then it was because all of a sudden, he _stopped_ acting weird, and then it was because he had just been given news that his mom died, and he needed to focus on something other than _that_.

The taxi driver seemed to keep glancing back at them as if they were being suspicious. They weren’t being suspicious, and Eddie was sure Ben didn’t carry any weed on him for the driver to smell. Eddie froze. No, the taxi driver wasn’t glancing at _them_. The taxi driver was glancing back at _him_.

“I’m sorry, sir, do you have a problem?” asked Eddie. Ben swivelled his head sharply at the sudden question and perhaps also the tone.

The driver’s eyes widened, realizing the glancing hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Um, no sir, I was just-”

“Then would you kindly stop staring at me every 10 seconds?”

The driver nodded and gulped nervously before the drive took on a heavy silence. The anger and annoyance that had settled in his stomach turned into curiosity. He hadn’t been doing anything weird and he was certain he didn’t smell or look bad. The taxi driver didn’t glare at Ben; only him. Weirdly enough, the man reminded Eddie of the bus driver in a show Richie had made him watch once. Very, very creepy.

Shortly enough, LaGuardia pulled into view. Ben took charge in carrying the two suitcases Eddie had brought which Eddie marvelled at for some time.

“How do you do that so easily?”

“Hm?” Ben hummed. Eddie stared at him as he lifted them with no effort. “Oh! I went to the gym lots when you were gone.”

 _When you were gone_ , Eddie mused. A pang of guilt resonated through him once again and almost made him throw up right there at Terminal B.

He was still confused as to how they got tickets so fast. Apparently, Ben had great friends that could get tickets with two-hour notice.

Ben had told him on the ride to that the airport would be crowded because it was Friday and cruises left on Saturday. He completely underestimated Ben’s words because the airport looked like Coachella but tropical themed. There were families with little kids buzzing around _everywhere_. He had never seen so many stressed parents and elated kids in his life. He had bumped into at least three kids already, and their parents made no attempt to chide them. One of the kids, a bright blue-eyed boy who was maybe seven, caught his attention the most. He was much quieter than the screaming kids he saw, and it seemed like he wasn’t dressed for a tropical excursion, more like he was heading to Canada.

Ben seemed to understand Eddie had no idea what to do at an airport and he ushered him to the baggage. “We need to go here first, one of your suitcases is definitely not carry-on.”

Ah yes. He had bought the gigantic red suitcases right after he left as a not-received _fuck you_ to his mother. It was an impulsive choice, but it was worth it because if there was one thing he needed, it was a _fuck you_.

The baggage area was as crowded, if not more, crowded than the previous area they had been in. All the workers looked like they were ready to give up, yet they still had fixed smiles on their faces. The admiration he had for them was immense, because he didn’t think he himself could survive a single day doing this. By the looks of it, Ben was thinking the same thing.

After Ben checked in his massive baggage and did security, which was _even_ busier. He could he a small voice saying _all these people are dirty, dirty and you’ll catch something, I assure you Eddie._ The scary part was that it wasn’t even his mother’s voice, it was his own. And this peculiar thing only happened when even his mother couldn’t get into his head. Now she never would. Freaking out at the airport was not in Eddie’s bucket list.

Ben glanced back at Eddie as he fumbled with the tickets he held. He handed one to Eddie. The ticket held so much weight, lying in his hand. A pass to freedom, almost. A one-way ticket to solace. He coughed just to get rid of these thoughts.

“Where do we go next, dude?”

Ben grimaced. “You’ve never called me dude.”

“Maybe I’ve changed.”

The tension in the airport at the moment made Eddie feel uncomfortable, but he held his gaze until Ben changed the subject.

“We wait for the plane to arrive. It’s going to take about an hour, so I hope you charged your phone.”

As they passed through the vast halls and smooth floors, Eddie let his eyes wander from small coffee shops to what looked like blinding cosmetic stores. The airport seemed like a mini mall, thousands of people wandering around without a care for the world, but there was a sort of anticipation in the air. All these people were going somewhere, majority of them it seemed, to be going on vacation. It was fast approaching Spring Break, so perhaps that was the reason. There was also a certain smell in the air. It was the smell of plastic and grass, of clean soap and worn cloth. A waft of fried food filled the air around him, and he saw Ben’s nose wrinkle.

“Gate 94? Where is it?” asked Eddie, in hope to distract Ben.

The signs above them indicated Gate 94 would require them to go on a subway like transport which would take almost 5 minutes to get to and three minutes to actually get to Gate 94. The ride to the gate wasn’t completely empty but it felt like it. There were countless of businesspeople on the subway. The subway, which Eddie learned the actual name of – _a shuttle train_ – was going at a fast pace and Eddie felt himself almost throw up at one point. The blue-eyed boy he had seen at security was on the shuttle as well, his blue eyes much like Bill’s boring into his. It was getting a bit weird, and Eddie was about the wave, like a normal person would do, when the shuttle person (he really didn’t understand these terms) announced the shuttle had arrived at the rest of the gates. He got off as fast as possible and Ben appeared moments later, face on guard.

“Did you see that boy-”

“Yeah,” said Eddie, sort of tiredly. “This whole staring at me thing is getting sort of annoying.”

A silence occurred as he followed Ben around, looking at even smoother floors and those vertical escalators that he’d never seen before. When they stepped on one, he wondered why they couldn’t have these everywhere. He heard Richie in his head say, _Because, my dear dimwit, they’re expensive_. He almost snorted out loud at the stupidity in the made-up statement. He still felt a lingering stare at the back of his neck, but he opted to ignore it, thinking the boy was just interested in his hair or something.

A sudden, unrelated thought blasted through his head as they went on the moving walkway thing. If his mother was dead, that meant he was an orphan now. His dad had died when he was barely two and he had absolutely no memories of the man. His mother had lived until 55 and had a halfway full life and he was an _orphan_.

He _did_ have a job though, at a local coffee shop. He didn’t know how the job could be stable enough to live off of though. He was smart enough to save up immensely, much unlike Richie, or that cop in that show he watched once. He remembered watching that cop show. He’d watched it once maybe three, four, years ago. It wasn’t as funny as it was now because he understood what it was like to have parent issues. The main character’s dad wasn’t around and although Eddie didn’t relate because _his_ dad wasn’t around, he related because he understood what it was like to have daddy issues, or in his case, _mommy_ issues. His were that his mother was a helicopter parent. Actually, not a helicopter, more like a _hovercraft_. Next level.

Not surprisingly, Gate 94 had very few people waiting. There was an old man, sitting by himself with a solemn look on his face. Ben sat right next to him, and Eddie had no choice but to sit there too. The man looked minorly surprised to find two college boys sitting _next_ to him, but he didn’t comment.

Ben had been right. The wait was long, and the anticipation was even longer. What he was doing was finally setting in. The dread flooded through his tummy, like the feeling of falling on a roller coaster. He didn’t know what to do anymore, so he followed Ben’s actions and scrolled through his phone. He rarely went on Instagram, Beverly had set his account up for him, but now it was his only source of distracting. He had a total of 57 followers, which in college standards, was an all-time low. His feed only consisted of his friends’ faces and an occasional random person Beverly had made him follow. Who the fuck was Tom Hiddleston?

A message popped up at the top of his screen and Eddie waved it away. Another one. Another wave. He relentlessly started scrolling, determined not to let the messages some fool was giving him distract him from the fact that he _had_ to like all the posts he saw. Finally, the messages stopped. The post he had stopped on suddenly transformed into the screen that indicated someone was calling him.

“Fuck.” He whispered under his breath. Usually he wouldn’t swear in public, but he was irritated and nervous, so it was the natural reaction. Ben didn’t even spare him a glance, which was a courtesy. He didn’t know why he was so anxious at the moment, but the ticking of his fingers must have accidentally clicked the answer button.

“Hi, Rich.”

“Eds? Are you safe?”

He scowled. “Why would you ask that? Of course, I’m safe.”

“No, um, never mind. I just didn’t want to say are you okay, ‘cause I’m sure you aren’t okay.”

“Oh.” He set his phone down on his leg as he fidgeted with his fingers, absently picking at his nails. “I don’t really know.”

Richie laughed. It was a really breathless laugh and it wasn’t Richie-like at all. “That’s fine, totally fine.” By the sound of rumblings and honking, Richie was in a car, and Eddie felt every jostle.

He felt his eyes narrow. “You’re clearly not fine. Are you drunk or something?”

“Why do you always say this? I _don’t_ drink, Eds. I might seem like the type, but the strongest thing I have ever drank is strawberry champagne.”

“Then what _are_ you doing?”

“Ah,” Richie said over the honk of a New York taxi. “I just came back from that library. Remember that library?”

Eddie remembered the library. The library where the tattoo he had for three years finally burned off to reveal another one. A simple curve of a yellow flower.

He coughed. “Why did you call me?”

Richie shrugged into the phone and he heard another voice in the background murmuring. “I don’t know. Safe journey and all. Say hi to Ben for me.”

The mention of his name shook Ben out of his stupor, and he stared at Eddie’s phone. “Are they talking about me?” He mouthed out.

He shook his head and pointed at the phone and mouthed, “Roommate.”

Understanding and something more filled in Ben’s eyes and he returned to playing his game. Before he met Ben, he hadn’t known anyone under the age of 40 who played Candy Crush, but Ben exceeded his expectations.

“Shouldn’t you be doing homework?”

Richie laughed again, this time sounding a bit more like himself. “It’s a Saturday, and Saturdays are meant for my lady.”

A pang shot through Eddie. “Shit, dude. You have a lady?”

“What, no!” Richie exclaimed. “You know I only have eyes for you.”

Eddie almost choked. There were countless times that Richie said flirtatious remarks to him. Hell, he said them to everyone. So why did this one make his heart beat so fast? A ding sound to his left made Ben nudge at him. _Fly time_.

“Shut up, Richie. I have to go.”

The call soon ended after that because they had to board the plane, but the lingering sound of Richie’s breathless laughter and the continuous train of thought in his mind had Eddie freaking out.

“Ben, what the fuck. I don’t want to do this. Maybe I’ll just stay here and Zoom the funeral, right? I heard about Zoom. It’s this video calling thing that is good for, you know, video calling. The plane’s probably really dirty, really fucking dirty. I think we should cancel and apologize to your friends or something. Ben?”

He whispered this frantically into Ben’s ear as they got up from their seats with the old man, who gave them a nod.

Ben glared despite the circumstances. “The plane isn’t dirty, Eddie. We need to go. _You_ need to go.”

There were about thirty people in front of them, and about ten behind. Slowly the line trickled forward, and with every step he took, the more nerves exploded in his bloodstream. _Oh god, oh god, oh god, what the fuck_.

The mantra in his head was repeated all the way to the front of the line, but he added an occasional _oh shit_ , and _fucking hell_ into the mix, because, well, variety. All he wished was for everything to go back to normal. He would have to attend his mother’s funeral first and travel back home with Ben (unless he wasn’t coming too). Easy plan, except his stomach wasn’t feeling it.

The clerk (he really didn’t know airport terms) smiled warmly at them both and noticed Eddie’s jerking hands and scared expression and nodded. “First time flier, aren’t you?”

All he could do was give a thumbs up to her as they left the terminal and headed to the plane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok... I am so, so, so sorry about the month long hiatus. Not going to lie, this chapter took a month to complete. I'll try to complete the fic by the end of the year, though! No abandoning in this house!


End file.
